Budapest » [Clintasha]

Chapter Three: The Performance

Though countless years have passed, I could probably still remember the ballet moves I was taught in that dusty, diminished hole of a grand theatre. It's muscle memory; it was drilled into my head like screws into a wall, imbedded firmly and hard to remove.

The bright stage lights boiled me alive in my itchy tight pink tutu, frying my slick skin, burning away my small amount of energy. My skin sizzled as perspiration broke out across it, droplets gathering on my hairline and on my lower back. The glare was intense and endless, there was no turning them off or turning them down. I had to continue. All I knew was to continue.

So many of the amazing girls towered over me, and were far more skilled than me and clearly been at it for a long time. They would twirl and swirl like balance wasn't an issue, extend their limbs as if there was no limit to the expanse of their arms and legs. They would float about the stage effortlessly, prancing on their toes, swaying and gliding, like the seeds of dandelions in the wind.

I was hopelessly dwarfed, completely perplexed and utterly terrified, staring up at the tall and beautiful young women surrounding me: unable to move with half as much grace. I stumbled and jumped about the stage frantically, desperately trying to keep up, my feet plodding heavily on the ground without rhythm or fluidity. I was grateful that I couldn't be seen, I was short and could hide behind their billowing bouncy tutus, but it was only so long before someone noticed me like a limp rose in a bouquet... And we all know what happens to the rotten flower in the bunch: it gets cut.

I ran about, trying to stick with the crowd, trying with all my might to remain hidden. I tried to do what looked right, but then I overbalanced.

Smack!

The wooden floor smashed into my rumpled face, my button nose buried in the glossy scented mahogany. My ears began to ring like church bells and my heart rate leapt through the roof, thrumming anxiously in my chest. When I withdrew my head from the floor, everything had stopped. The music had come to an abrupt staggering halt and the girls were all stood in their lines like soldiers, peering at me in horror. It was robotic.

I looked about, and the flaming red hair that had freed itself amidst the duration of the collision fell over my pale horrified face, blocking my view as if my sight wasn't already obscured and fuzzy enough. The world swung around me, like I had been or a merry-go-round and had fallen off. Everything was tilting left and right like a pendulum in a grandfather clock, swinging from side to side.

I pushed myself up on my hands, trying to support myself on my weak battered arms that were scraped by the rusty nails sticking out of the flooring and bruised where I barely caught myself. My forearms were grazed, the skin fleshy and pink where the skin had been scraped away, warm and stinging, buzzing with pain. Bruises were already forming and everything hurt.

Addled and in pain, I started crying. Warm suffering tears leaked out of my eyes and rolled down my rosy embarrassed flushed cheeks. Where was Ivan? I wanted Ivan.

"Natalia!" The hoarse crowing shout of the ballet teacher reached my ears.

She stomped towards me with no grace, her face like thunder and her wrinkled eyes burning with violent fury. The old crone was livid. She snatched me by the arm and hauled me to my feet, nearly tripping me again in the process.

"Fail again and I'll be forced to take you to Karpov."

She warned me and I heed that warning like it was a blessing. If only I had known the horrors that were in store the first time she was going to take me to Vasily.

I nodded frantically, trying my hardest to let her know that her message was received and understood.

"And for god's sake, stop crying girl."